


the candles blew and then disappeared

by orphan_account



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Pregnant Gamora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-15 18:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's a bad idea.





	the candles blew and then disappeared

**Author's Note:**

> I dislike Valentine's Day. I love Starmora. This was the result.
> 
> (enjoy?)
> 
> Title is from Blue Öyster Cult.

It’s a bad idea.

Well, with the right perspective, _all_ ideas are bad ideas, but the one Peter has just brought up is far worse than anything Gamora could ever imagine. It’s not just bad, not just awful—it’s downright _idiotic._

Fine. Maybe that’s overselling it. But _still_ —it’s not good. Peter should know better by now. They’ve spent _six years_ together, and he still doesn’t know where to draw the line?

“I know… it's a lot to think about,” Peter says tentatively. “And you don’t have to make your mind up now. Not at all. I wouldn’t ask that of you. All I want to know is… what do you think?”

_You’re crazy, that’s what I think._

But isn’t that why she fell in love with him?

Gamora must admit—maybe she’s being a bit irrational here. Peter’s arms are safe and comforting as he holds her in their position on the bed. The other Guardians are (hopefully) asleep by now. He’s not making any demands, and he’s definitely not suggesting this idea in order to hurt her. Gamora has been together with this guy for nearly six years, married for two. He wouldn’t do that.

But this idea. It’s just _not good._

And yet… Gamora can’t tell what it is about it that throws her off. She’s already established that it’s bad— _but is it, Gamora? Is it really?_ —but why? Maybe it’s the fact that it’s so abrupt. And insane. And totally unrealistic.

_Or maybe you’re just scared._

“Gamora?”

He sounds nervous.

 _Imagine if we got to raise Groot again,_ Peter had said. _But like, for real this time. Now that we’re an actual team that knows how to work together._

 _What do you mean?_ She’d responded, because had they really done that bad with Groot? Sure, his teenage years were rough, but they’re all rather proud of how he turned out, if she does say so herself.

_I mean… what if we had a kid of our own?_

“Peter, I…” Gamora swallows, her head spinning with all the sudden information. “I think I just want to… can we talk about this another time? I’m not sure that I can…”

She’s not looking at him, but she can _feel_ his head nodding. Probably too much for his own good. “That’s fine,” he says. His voice is nearly an octave higher. “Yup. Just… sleep on it. Sorry for… y’know. Taking it too far.”

He turns around so that their backs are facing and lets out a shaky breath.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again.

 _It’s not your fault,_ she thinks. _And maybe the idea isn’t so bad._

But it is. It’s terrible. It’s awful. And it’s _never going to happen._

For the first time in months, Gamora wishes she were better for him.

 

* * *

 

The next time he brings it up, Gamora has had time to process it. And wallow in its stupidity. And think of the possibilities. And give herself a real headache.

She supposes the conversation had been innocent enough until he subtlety slips the offer in.

Gamora doesn’t shut him out, but she does excuse herself to go to the bathroom.

Her reflection in the mirror looks exhausted, haunted even, even though it’s been years since Thanos and she’s never been this happy in her life. She thinks of Peter, and the Guardians, and Nebula, and she finally accepts the fact that _she wants this_. She really does want this.

She just doesn’t know what will happen, and for her, that’s the scariest thing of all.

Gamora’s belly is flat, save for the distinct outline of her abdominal muscles. She puts her hands out a few centimeters in front of it, imagining with fascination what it would be like. _It would be nice,_ she decides, _terrifying, but nice._ And that’s that.

The next time Peter asks her, she’ll say yes. She _will._ But not yet.

 

* * *

 

Peter asks her again, weeks later.

Gamora goes pale.

He squeezes her hand, reassuring her.

Eventually, she says yes.

 

* * *

 

 

“If we're talking about biological compatibility, then the anatomy of Zehoberei and Terran bodies are fairly similar. I'd say you won't have any trouble in that area. The bigger concern at hand, however, is Mrs. Quill’s enhancements.”

Of course. Gamora should’ve known. She was stupid to get her hopes up, stupid to get _their_ hopes up. They should just go back to their ship, pretend this ordeal never happened, move on like everything is as it was before. She’s stupid, _so_ stupid—

“We don’t know their full extent,” the doctor continues, “so we don’t know how they will affect the pregnancy. I’d say the chances of disruptions are very small, minuscule even. You can—”

“Wait,” Gamora cuts in, her mind clearing. “You—you mean… it’s possible?”

The doctor tilts her head. “Why, of course, dear. There’s nothing in our records that says it won’t be. You don’t have modifications in your reproductive system, do you?”

Gamora can feel herself blushing, forces herself to stop. “No.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. As I was about to say, you _can_ get them taken out, if you wish—”

“I can?” Gamora interrupts again. “Really?”

She contemplates that. _No mods._ A life lacking mod-induced pain. A life without the reminders of Thanos’ daily torture.

But also… a life with completely different strengths and abilities. It would take _years_ to adjust to living without them, not to mention the side effects it would have on her body—

Peter covers her hand with his. “Do you want that, baby?”

 _Baby._ A new nickname Peter has started using. Strangely, Gamora can’t find herself objecting to it.

“I don’t think so,” Gamora breathes, her voice small but firm. She’s gotten this far in escaping Thanos’ rule, his intrusive thoughts, his constant domination. Removing the mods would feel like cheating. Like she’s not strong enough to do this on her own.

Peter raises his eyebrows but says nothing. She makes a mental note to thank him later, when they’re alone.

“Alright, then,” the doctor says, wringing her hands. “There’s nothing stopping you, in that case.” She trades her professional composure for a wide grin. “Good luck, you two—trust me, the whole galaxy has been waiting for this.”

Gamora’s not sure what to do with that information, but she smiles back and nods goodbye. Keeps her hand in Peter’s on the way out.  


* * *

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Gamora takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“Because I really, really, _really_ don’t want this to be a one-sided thing—this is for both of us. Hell, you’ll be the one doing all the heavy-lifting. If you’re not sure, then _please_ don’t just do this for my sake. I promise I won’t be an assho—”

She silences him with a kiss. “I’m sure.”

 

* * *

  
  
The next few months pass by quickly.

They try not to tell anyone yet, especially since there is still a chance that it won’t happen. It’s hard keeping it from her sister, Gamora learns, because in the past two years they’ve come to share things with each other. Things that matter to them. Not telling her feels like keeping a huge, dangerous secret—but she convinces herself that it’s for the better. _No one_ can know about this particularly terrible idea of Peter’s.

That is, of course, until the Galactic Press meets them off the edge of the newly reconstructed Xandar and starts asking questions.

“Mr. Quill! Is it true that you and Gamora are trying to have a child?”

And, as usual, Peter can’t keep his damn mouth shut.

He flashes his charming smile to the cameras and flaunts, “Well, I ain’t saying anything, but I’m saying something, y’know?”

Then all hell breaks loose.

 

* * *

 

“I am Groot!”

“No, of course we’re not replacing you! Why would you even think that?”

“Oh, this is wonderful. Now you can tell your future child stories of their conception every winter solstice, as my parents did to me.”

“No, Drax, that’s not—did any of you guys even listen? We don’t even know yet! Me ‘n Gamora are just _trying!”_

“Ugh, you two are disgustin.’”

Nebula pulls Gamora away from the chaos that is their family and stares with those stone-cold eyes of hers. “Did he manipulate you?”

Gamora blanches. “What—how—why would you even _think_ that? Where’s this coming from?”

Her sister curses. “Of course you’d say that if you’re under his influence. I swear, I’m gonna murder that son of a—”

“Nebula!” Gamora exclaims, horrified. “What are you talking about?”

“Why else would you agree to do this with him?” she retaliates. “You must be manipulated, or maybe just out of your damn mind, as usual. That’s actually more likely.” Nebula sighs. “Sister. Do you not remember _any_ of our days under Thanos’ imprisonment? _Any_ of the lessons he taught?”

Gamora flinches. That _hurts._ “Of course I do,” she whispers. “And I’m trying to forget. This is the next step.”

“Or maybe it’s your downfall.”

She takes Nebula’s hands in hers. “Sister, I promise you—I’ve thought about this a great deal. I know what I’m doing. Sort of.”

No response.

“I know you can’t understand,” Gamora says, growing frantic now. “And that’s okay. But this is something I _want._ Something _we_ want. It’ll all be worth it, in the end.”

Nebula’s nostrils flare. “Fine,” she mutters, wrenching her hands out of Gamora’s grasp. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She barges down the hallway, pushing past the rest of the rest of the Guardians (most of whom are still arguing with Peter) and disappears into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Sometimes, Gamora thinks, things aren’t quite as easy as they seem.  


* * *

 

Peter’s knock comes from outside the bathroom door. “Babe? Any luck?”

She stares down at the pregnancy test in her hands. It’s the umpteenth time they’ve tried this now, and she’d been beginning to think that the doctor was right, that this is just pointless—

But the little green plus sign blinking up at her begs to differ.

“‘Mora?”

The test clatters down into the sink.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

Gamora can feel the blood pumping through her veins, can hear the pounding of her heart.

_Did you say that you know what you’re doing? Because you were dead, dead wrong._

 

* * *

  

“Oh, god,” Peter says for what must be the billionth time that evening. “Oh, _god.”_

“You’re more shocked by this than I am,” Gamora remarks, though she can’t deny the feeling of astonishment and joy and _terror_ consuming her mind that very moment. _Oh god oh god oh god oh god._

“I just—” Peter leans in to plant a big, passionate kiss on her lips. “I can’t _believe_ —” Another kiss. “You’re so _fucking_ amazing, you know that, right?”

Gamora allows herself a small smile. “You do tend to say that a lot.”

After their excitement fades a bit (keyword: a _bit)_ and they’re both settled down for the night, Peter wraps his arms around her. Gamora is reminded of the evening, not so long ago, similar to this one, when he’d positioned himself the same way and first proposed the offer to her. The offer of children.

 _Look how far we’ve come,_ Gamora notices with pride.

“Oh, god,” Peter mumbles into her hair, almost ironically at this point.

“Terrifying, right?” Gamora jokes. Then the weight of her words sinks in.

It’s _terrifying._ _Horrifying._ Downright _frightening._ Why did she agree to this? What will come out of this? A squishy, blubbering, helpless _child_ who can’t even take care of itself. It’ll just be a struggle—how can the team save the galaxy and make money when there’s a _baby_ to look after? And, on top of that, how did Gamora _ever_ think she was competent enough to be a _mother?_

Peter sighs. “Oh, we have no idea what we’re doing, do we.” It’s not really a question.

Gamora sniffs harshly—no, she is _not_ crying, _shut up_ —and nods listlessly.

Probably sensing her change in demeanor—Peter was always good at reading her—he rubs her shoulder, comforting her. “Hey, it’ll be fine,” he says, his voice much softer than before. “You’ll be a great mom.”

Gamora rolls over, finally letting the tears spill from her eyes as she stares into his face. “You really think so?”

He gently puts his hand on her stomach, even though there’s really not that much there (yet). “I know so.”

She hopes he’s right. But it’s been proven to her, time and time again, that Gamora Quill does not always get what she hopes for.

 

* * *

 

Nebula doesn’t understand.

That’s okay. Gamora can live with that. She totally does not have a problem with her second-closest family member not giving a damn about one of the most important changes in her life.

The rest of the Guardians’ enthusiasm makes up for it, somewhat. Mantis, of course, is over the roof, squealing for five minutes straight with pure joy. Drax’s expression is confused— _wait, I thought she was already pregnant? Why was everyone so excited before?_ —and then later morphs into one of joy as well. Groot is still upset about being “replaced,” but there’s no denying that gleam in his eyes. And as for Rocket… well, let’s just say, he’s not blowing anything up. He’s complaining, that’s for sure, but Gamora could’ve sworn there was something akin to a smile on his face, if only for a moment.

She wishes there was a smile on Nebula’s face as well, but instead she got a pleasant sneer, a lovely lip-curl, and a wonderful eye-roll. When Gamora has to excuse herself to go heave her guts out, the disapproval only gets worse.

“You’re making a fool of yourself, sister,” Nebula declares as Gamora charmingly throws up whatever’s left of her stomach. “Really, it can’t get any worse than this.”

Gamora leans up from the toilet, breathing heavily. She’s grateful that Nebula had at least agreed to hold her hair, but the snarky remarks she can do without.

“Yeah, thanks,” she grumbles. Then she leans over to puke a bit more.

When she rises again, she sees Nebula crinkle her nose at the smell. “That’s what you get for being with a Terran,” Nebula says. “Really, any other species has less painful and inconvenient side effects. But because you chose to be with this weak, squishy Terran, you have to suffer the symptoms of _both_ your species. Disgusting.”

“Alright, that’s _enough!”_ Gamora slams her hand on the rim of the toilet and glares at her sister in the eye. “You don’t get to come in here and just tell me _everything_ I’m doing wrong! I’m _trying,_ Nebula, don’t you see? Just because I’ve found happiness and you haven’t doesn’t mean that you get to attack me with _every little thing_ I don’t do perfectly!”

She breathes heavily, and only when Nebula’s grip on her hair loosens and she begins to stand does she realize what she just said.

“Oh—oh no, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” Nebula says, deadly calm. “You’re right. You’re happy, and I’m jealous. Is that good enough for you? Are you satisfied now?”

The cyborg storms off to the bathroom door. “I hope you have fun with your little Terran husband,” she sneers. “Go on, make plenty of babies. Start your own little family. Leave me behind. Oh no, I don’t mind—I’ve dealt with it for most of my life. I’m sure I can do it again.”

The door slams shut. Again. Just like last time.

“Nebula?”

Gamora’s throat burns. Her head aches, and she can feel the tears already springing to her eyes.

“Shit…”

And she’d thought it couldn’t get any worse.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Nebula’s not wrong about the symptoms mixing.

And Gamora just has to wonder—how much weaker and _weirder_ can Peter’s species possibly _get?_

The soreness she can understand. The swelling, the fatigue. But the mood swings? The food cravings? The _constant need to urinate?_ What in the _galaxy_ went _wrong_ with Terrans?

“Hey, how you doing?” Peter says softly as he steps into their room. The others have, thank god, retreated to their respective parts of the ship, leaving them alone (for now). Gamora’s headache is even worse than before. At least with the pregnancy, she has an excuse to avoid people.

“Fine,” she mumbles into her pillow. She chooses not to mention her argument with Nebula earlier—it’s not worth discussing, anyway. “Just tired.”

A moment later, Gamora can feel Peter’s fingers kneading their way into the knots in her shoulder, and some of the pain dissipates. She wants to thank him, but all she can let loose is a small groan.

Peter chuckles. “So, I’ve been thinking. You know all those foods you can’t eat ‘cuz of the baby?”

Gamora makes a noncommittal noise. Of course she knows. She’s been limiting her coffee for weeks now. Obviously, it’s taken a toll on her.

“Well, seeing how hard it is for you to keep up the diet… and I feel kinda bad for not doing this sooner… I thought I’d join you. Y’know, so that you don’t have to keep watching me drink beer.”

Gamora tilts her head so that she can speak clearly. “You really think you can go without alcohol for almost nine months?”

He shrugs. “How hard can it be?”

“You also can’t have a lot of coffee. No more than two cups a day.”

“I mean…” he swallows. “I’ve done that before. As a kid. When I hated coffee and never drank it. It won’t be _that_ bad…”

“You can’t eat certain meats, certain cheeses… oh yeah, that Krylorian fish you like so much is off-limits.”

“That’s… okay, that’s manageable…”

“No junk food, either.”

“WHAT?”

Gamora rolls her eyes. “Too much of it will hurt the baby. It’s better to avoid it altogether.”

_“Bullshit.”_

“It’s true. The doctor told me. I even did research on my own.”

“B—but we had pizza last night!”

 _“You_ had pizza. I had the salad.”

Peter stops massaging her back for a moment. “I have so much respect for you right now.”

“Don’t stop massaging me, you idiot.”

He takes a deep breath, picking up where he left off. “Okay. I can do this. I can do this. No coffee, no alcohol, no junk food for almost a year—that’s fine. Gamora’s doing it. I can do it.”

“We’ll see how long your strength will last,” she teases.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, she catches him eating fries at three in the morning.

“Oh, come on. I _tried._ Doesn’t that count for something?”  


* * *

  

Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and soon enough, there’s a visible bump on Gamora’s stomach. Not big enough to warrant new clothes, but still big enough to attract attention from the public.

At this point, it seems like Peter’s more attached to the baby than she is. His hands are constantly drifting to her midsection, whether it’s to feel the baby kicking or just to stare at it in wonderment.

“We did this,” he says, his eyes suspiciously glossy. “We _made_ this, ‘Mora.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m the one actually making it. You had a rather insignificant role.”

“Insignificant?” Peter asks incredulously, though there’s a playful gleam in his eyes that makes Gamora want to kiss him. “I had a _very_ important role, mind you. So important, in fact, that you, a hardened assassin, could _simply not resist_ my—”

“Oh, shut up,” Gamora mutters and yanks his shirt collar back, planting her lips on his.

Oh yeah. There’s been a lot more kissing lately, too. She wonders what that’s about.

 

* * *

 

It’s the ultrasound, however, that really puts things into perspective.

“Look at that,” the doctor, whose name Gamora _still_ hasn’t gotten, says. “She’s beautiful.”

_She._

For some reason, Gamora’s heart breaks at that word. _She._ There’s having a girl. A brand new, healthy, beautiful baby girl, and Peter’s right. They did make her.

“‘Mora?” Peter’s hand is on her shoulder as they both stare at the video. Maybe it’s meant to reassure her, she doesn’t know, but what she _does_ know is that his eyes are getting misty too. “She’s… she’s just…”

_She’s just beautiful._

Gamora finally knows what he’s feeling.

_They’re having a baby. A little baby girl._

“Oh, god,” Gamora and Peter whisper at the same time.

“Would you like me to transfer the video to your holo?”

 

* * *

 

Back on the ship, everyone gushes at the sonogram. Well, everyone except for Nebula… they haven’t really spoken much since their argument. Gamora’s trying her hardest to push it to the back of her mind. So far, her methods haven’t let her down.

Drax and Mantis have been busy clearing out a room for the baby to use, right next to Gamora’s. Groot has been helping Rocket baby-proof it. Their M-ship is small, but somehow, they made it work. Gamora couldn’t be more grateful.

“You guys are amazing,” she breathes as she hugs each one of them tightly.

Rocket sighs. “At this point, you’re worse than Quill.”

 

* * *

 

Later, Gamora catches Nebula staring at one of the holographic photographs they’ve set up around the ship. The photo of the sonogram. She seems completely entranced, even going as far as to reach out and touch it.

Her movements are reverent, gentle even—more gentle than Gamora’s ever seen them.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Gamora calls out softly.

Nebula flinches violently, yanking her hand away from the photo. “It’s dumb,” she retorts.

Tentatively, Gamora takes a step forward. “We haven’t really talked since… you know.”

“You showed no signs of wanting to, so here we are.”

She curses inwardly. She should’ve known better. She should’ve _tried,_ because now they’re right back where they were five years ago and it’s impossible to tell if it’s getting any better.

Their relationship _is_ getting better, Gamora tells herself. It _has_ to be. But not if they keep on fighting and avoiding each other like this.

“I’m sorry, Nebula,” she says, swallowing. “I never meant for you to feel… excluded. You know I’ll always love you.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“Sister. _Please._ I don’t… I can’t…“ Gamora shuts her eyes _hard_ until white spots start dancing around and she’s forced to pry them open. “I _need_ you right now. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. I can mess this up so bad… I need you. I _trust_ you. I trust you more than anyone.”

That catches her attention. “More than… anyone?”

She nods. “I’ve known you almost my whole life. I _love_ you, Nebula, and I know it’s not always perfect, but we can make it better. _Together._ Sometimes I say the wrong things, but…“ Gamora takes a deep breath. “I’m not misspeaking when I say that I trust you. More than anyone else. Yes, even Peter.”

Nebula’s demeanor remains stiff, but her eyes become slightly less steely. _Slightly._ “What does that have to do with anything?”

“What I’m saying is… I know I haven’t exactly been fair to you. I said some things I shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry for that, Nebula—I’m so, so sorry. But I’m going through… a lot of changes right now. I trust you, and I need your help.”

A pause.

Nothing.

A million thoughts pass through Gamora’s mind— _what if she leaves again what if she hates me what if she doesn’t believe me what if what if WHAT IF_ —before Nebula finally breaks the silence.

“You’re going to need new clothes.”

Gamora tilts her head. “Sorry, what?”

“I know you _think_ you can still pull off that leather—and trust me, Quill won’t make any attempts to make you change—but your bump is getting big. Also, the assassin look doesn’t work so well when you’re pregnant. Everyone will already know you’re soft.”

Gamora stares at her, dumbfounded. Then, slowly, she breaks out into a grin. “So you’re going to help me?”

Again, Nebula doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward and hesitantly places her hands on Gamora’s stomach. “Is it… kicking?”

Gamora suppresses another wider smile. “Sometimes,” she muses. “Right now, only a little bit. If you feel right there—yeah.”

Something in Nebula’s eyes changes, right then and there. It’s an awkward position—her hands are on her sister’s baby bump, but the rest of her body is as physically far away as possible—and yet, there’s a new expression on her face. It’s not quite the amazement that’s constantly in Peter’s eyes, but it’s close.

And it makes Gamora so unbelievably happy.

“I’ll help you,” Nebula says finally, her voice low and, for once, filled with emotion. “I can see now how much you need it.”

Gamora doesn’t need to say thank you back. She’s 100% sure it’s already written all over her face.

 

* * *

 

“I’m so scared, Peter.”

“Shh.”

“This was all a big mistake. I shouldn’t have done this. I’m _so sorry_ —”

“Shh, baby. Don’t be sorry. And don’t worry either, it’ll all turn out fine. _Trust me.”_  


* * *

 

 

“I’m thinking… light green skin, blue eyes. Wait, no—brown eyes.”

Gamora closes her eyes, trying to imagine that. Their little baby girl, her skin a shade in-between her parents’, her eyes similar to her mother’s. “That would be… interesting.”

“But what if her skin isn’t a mix of ours? What if green skin is a dominant trait? No one would ever believe she’s my daughter.”

She gently takes Peter’s hands and places them on her stomach. As usual, his eyes widen in fascination. “Maybe we shouldn’t think about how she’ll look like,” she whispers. “Maybe we should just think about how she’ll be as a person. How she’ll act.”

Now it’s Peter’s turn to close his eyes in imagination—or maybe he’s just tired. It’s very late at night, after all.

“What should her name be?” he mumbles, almost too quietly for Gamora to hear.

 _That’s_ something she hasn’t thought about.

“We’ll figure it out once we have her in our arms,” she replies, because it’s late at night and Gamora just _really_ doesn’t have the energy to think about this right now.

Peter mumbles something akin to agreement and rolls over to turn the lights off.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, when Gamora’s close to sleep and only half-registering things in her mind. “Pretty soon, we’re gonna have her in our arms.”

 

* * *

 

“Peter…”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“You keep saying that, but—”

“Nope. I’m fine. I just…”

“Peter.”

“I’m just scared, okay? If this all goes wrong… it’s on me. It’s _all_ on me. You’re just so precious to me, ‘Mora… and… and the baby… I don’t want to lose you…”

“It’ll be fine. You told me yourself it’ll be fine, remember? Maybe it’s time you start believing it.”  


* * *

 

Gamora doesn’t really walk anymore. It’s more of a waddle.

Peter is downright _forbidding_ her to go on missions at this point (well, not really; he respects her too much to do that, but _still)._ Gamora doesn’t really have the strength to argue. She’s never slept this much in her life, and yet she’s _always_ tired.

The press is still all over the whole pregnancy thing. They can’t even go to the market without someone complimenting them or some kind of camera flashing in their face as the paparazzi ask them questions— _when is it due? He or she? Who are the godparents?_

They have it all figured out; Mantis is the godmother, Drax is the godfather. Rocket is the eccentric uncle and Nebula is the (un)willing aunt. Groot, of course, is the cousin; he was beyond overjoyed to hear that.

Gamora and Peter are the parents.

_They’re parents._

They still haven’t figured out names, but whatever. She’s sure they find something when the time comes.

At this point, there’s not much left to do but wait.

 

* * *

 

“Oh, god.”

 

* * *

 

_“Oh, god.”_

 

* * *

 

Eight weeks before she’s due, Gamora wakes up.

She’s not sure _why_ she wakes up, in the beginning. The time on her holo reads 4:32 in the morning. Peter is sound asleep. Everything is fine—

Then the pain settles in.

“Fuck,” she mutters. _“Fuck.”_

She rolls over to wake up her husband, but even that tiny action sends bursts of pain shooting up her body.

“Ahh—fuck! _Peter!_ Wake up!”

“Gimme a minute…”

_“Peter!”_

He sits straight up, then. Or at least, Gamora thinks so—her vision is going hazy around the edges.

“Something’s… something’s wrong…”

He wipes the sleep from his eyes, then pales at the sight of her writhing in front of him. “Oh, god…”

_“Do something!”_

“I’m coming, baby,” he says, hopping out of bed and tearing off her covers. “I’m coming— _oh, shit.”_

Gamora still feels the pain. It’s circulating through her body, making her back, abdomen, midsection all scream out, telling her _something’s wrong! Something’s wrong!_ She manages a glance up at Peter, and—

He’s staring at the bedsheets.

His face is as pale as she’s ever seen it.

“P—Peter?” she manages weakly.

“Blood,” he mutters.

_Blood?_

“Peter?” she repeats, somewhat stronger now.

“Stay here,” he orders, and Gamora gets the vague impression that he’s about to throw up.

Instead, she hears him banging on doors, calling out for the others. “ROCKET! GET UP! Set the course for the nearest hospital— _now!_ Just _go!_ Drax, _help me!”_

The word _blood_ resonates through her brain, warning her of the implications… but she can’t think straight, let alone do anything about it. Her headache right now is a thousand times worse than it’s ever been. There’s a cramp in her abdomen, something so strong and powerful it makes her want to pass out.

Pass out… that sounds like a good idea. She won’t feel the pain that way.

Yes…

The fluorescent ceiling lights don’t give her as much of a headache if her eyes are closed, she notices.

And she can’t really register Peter’s hands on her shoulders, shaking her. She can’t really comprehend the voice that sounds suspiciously like him saying _come on, baby… stay awake, Gamora, we’re almost there, I promise…_

She can’t really understand all that, not when her eyes are closed and her world is black and the pain is consuming her and she’s vaguely aware of someone screaming, screaming, screaming…

 

* * *

 

_“Oh, god.”_

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, later, much later. “There’s… there’s really nothing we can do. We—we weren’t aware of the extent of your modifications. We didn’t know the effects they would have. I… I’m really sorry.”

 

* * *

 

_“Oh, god.”_

 

* * *

 

“Sister… it’s not your fault.”

“Of course it isn’t.” It hurts to speak.

A pause. “It’s _not._ It’s… it’s his fault. You didn’t know.”

“But I did—I could’ve.

“No. Thanos did this to you. Stop trying to—”

“Before this all started, the doctor gave me a choice. I chose no.”

_And now… here we are._

It’s her fault.

 

* * *

 

“Gamora?”

Her husband’s voice calls through the other side of the door, for once choosing to knock instead of barging in without hesitation.

It’s strange, Gamora thinks, how much a person changes depending on the situation. Peter has never been one to have any regard for knocking, at all, ever, but… right now is a different story.

“Come in,” she calls. Her voice is scratchy. Hoarse. Weak. Like she’s been screaming for hours.

_She has._

He stands there awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. Gamora catches him glancing at the bed—the others cleaned out the blood before they came back, but she still refuses to sit in it. Which explains why she’s now sitting on the floor.

“‘Mora, come on, honey. We can—we can sleep in the other room tonight, okay?”

She shakes her head. The only other room available is the nursery.

 _Was_ the nursery.

He takes a few hesitant steps forward, grasping her hand in his.

“We can do whatever you want,” he says slowly, “but you’re gonna have to tell me what that is.”

She doesn’t respond.

“‘Mora.” He shuts his eyes tight, just like she did, not too long ago. “‘Mora. _Baby._ Please, I—”

She flinches against her will, that one word resonating in her mind.

 _Baby. Our little baby girl. Our creation. Gone. She’s gone. You’re a failure, you failed everyone, you got their hopes up, you’ve RUINED EVERYTHING_ —

“Gamora. Gamora. Gamora!”

She snaps her eyes open. _When did they close?_

“Gamora, you _have to talk to me.”_ Peter sounds frantic now. Desperate. Almost hopeless. _“Please.”_

“I’m sorry,” Gamora whispers.

He starts crying.

“Don’t—” _Sniff. “_ —be sorry, Gamora. You didn’t—you haven’t—” He inhales sharply. _“I_ fucked this up, okay? I started this whole thing, it was my idea, and I made everything _awful_ for everyone—”

 _Gasp._ “And you were in… so much pain. You were _screaming._ Gamora. I don’t _ever_ want to see you in that much pain. _Ever._ But I did. And it was—the worst thing—I’ve ever…”

Whatever ounce of composure he had is gone now as he slumps onto the floor beside her. He’s sobbing, and she’s distinctly aware that she’s supposed to help him.

Can she?

Instead, she looks down at her stomach.

The kicking is gone. The liveliness, the promise, the potential… all of it is gone. There’s just a subtle bump now.

Her baby is gone.

 _Don’t say I didn’t warn you,_ Nebula’s voice says in her mind. But somehow, it is also her voice.

No, not her voice—Thanos’ voice.

_Don’t say I didn’t warn you, daughter._

_It’s my fault,_ Gamora thinks.

It’s her fault.

 

* * *

 

 

Oh, god.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know my writing isn't the best, and I'm constantly trying to improve, so let me know if you enjoyed it! You can also find me on [Tumblr.](http://star-munches.tumblr.com)


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